Catharsis: Scoria and Ash
by corrinenichols
Summary: Renamed.  Padme stated of Anakin "I know there's good in him"; Vader ascertains this, with Padme alive to receive his return.
1. Plunging

It all went down the way Lucas wrote it through the beginning until the end of ROTS. But Padme did not die... yet- at least not by the time Sidious told Vader she had.

Also, as much as I admire samurai (Lucas' model for Vader's costume) I hate Vader's costume. Let's pretend that all his limbs were severed, but that he didn't need to wear the mask/helmet or the suit; he has prosthetics and all, but he still has his face (and hair, I have a thing for his hair) and can still wear typical (i.e. sith or whatever) clothes.

All material written under Creative Commons License.

I recognize all material is copyrighted by George Lucas and/or Lucas arts. I do not intend to profit monetarily in any way from this work.

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"Where is Padme? Is she safe? Is she all right?"

"It seems, in your anger, you killed her..."

Vader didn't respond. The words Sidious spoke were transparent... there was something wrong with them.

In his mind he treaded the surface of the water within the well in which he was caught. He had jumped into this well for Sidious; plunged into the darkness. Sidious had presented the mouth at the top as a passageway to power. But it was not only power, vague and obscure that was promised to be on the other side; it was Padme's life. And thus it was also Anakin's life... he could not live without her. All else that should have sustained him died with his mother, Shmi.

But in this well Anakin was trapped... unable to move, unable to save the one he loved.

As he was killing the younglings; desecrating the temple, he was drowning, unconscious within the well-water. Sidious stole from the Jedi his reason, and replaced it with the Sith's own will, which Anakin's body enacted as Vader.

Only as he was being healed... rebuilt as a being more machine than man, did he awaken, and gasping, rise to the water's surface.

With his eyes open he looked towards the top of the well, where light shined through, and beyond which he could feel Padme, suffering, but alive.

She was alive. He felt it, absolutely.

He knew Sidious was lying to him.

But he was still within the well...

The force was not what it once was according to Vader's senses. Before Vader's transformation Anakin had conceptualized that the force had been in form comparable to weather. In fact, weather was the only thing to which it was comparable. It spoke to Anakin in fluctuations of energy, not unlike warmth and wind and precipitation. To him the force was like a universe of weather that filled the space surrounding all other beings and objects, largely undisturbed by the phenomena that existed within it. He was merely one being in this grand existence. He was insignificant amidst it all. Yet he possessed some incredible power by which he was capable of manipulating the force in an almost divine means.

Him, the Chosen One.

Now Vader felt like his body was a massive center of gravity. It was like every atom, every subatomic particle of his body was pulling the energy of the universe into his skin and housing it there, hoarding it. But he could also expel it at will. Radiating from himself a fountain that would satiate—seemingly eternally—his environment. Saturating the objects of his will with his will. It was a very pleasurable, complimentary experience, one which left him feeling extraordinarily more powerful than he ever had before. More powerful than any other being he could sense within his conscious stretch of awareness of the actual universe.

This power is why Sidious selected Anakin as his pawn.

Yet, Sidious underestimated aspects of Anakin's character and capabilities (like love), which Sidious himself was not capable of even perceiving, and therefore could not indentify. Sidious made a very insufficiently small account of the love Anakin, and Vader still, had for Amidala. He did not properly research the bond between the lovers.

It was a bond created and supported by the force (Amidala possessed a sufficient midi-chlorian count to nourish and sustain such a bond). It had little purpose, other than to inform the participants that the other party still lived. It was a life-line. Anakin had made many such bonds with many persons in his life, which Vader still maintained... despite all. His bond with Amidala was indistinguishable to Sidious.

Thus, Sidious knew nothing to cause him to expect his lie would not be believed. For, Sidious knew that Amidala had not died in child-birth, that Vader had not caused any fatal damage to her, and that she lived and was healthy. Vader, however, could not know. That was crucial should Sidious manage to control him in the future.

But Vader did know.

Vader would not tolerate falsity; manipulation.

The energy, a heaving, hot, violent flow fueled Vader; fueled his outrage. And his rage activated the simple action of choking a unsuspecting, old man.

Sidious did not anticipate Vader's reaction. He assumed his lie was strong, effective, and he anticipated a response that was very different that what came.

Until this point neither Vader nor Anakin had murdered through choking. He did not know entirely how it worked nor what to expect. He knew nothing of how to gauge timing in order to achieve specific outcomes.

Vader did not mean to murder Sidious, but he must be punished. Vader would demonstrate that he would not be lied to.

But, before Vader could stop himself, whatever it was that Vader squeezed in Sidious popped, its contents bursting from it. The energy that was caught in Sidious simply dispersed away from him. It was gone from him.

Sidious died.

Vader was shocked and he was afraid. Sidious ought not to have died. Vader needed him. Anakin needed him. For Padme.

Regret filled him, flooded into him. Vader had annihilated all the Jedi within the temple, and for that he felt sadness. But here, having murdered the man who had commanded such a tragedy, there was fear and regret that propagated within his bones as a cold, quivering substance that spread to his skin.

Vader had destroyed the single source of hope he had held for saving Padme from death. Palpatine was supposed to help Anakin keep her alive. Whether Palpatine and Sidious were one had at a certain point in time meant nothing to Anakin; so long as he had the power, that was all that was significant.

As Vader had choked Padme on Mustafar, he worried for her, but he did not believe that his choke would kill. Otherwise, he would not have taken that chance.

But still, had killed Sidious. Now, Vader feared, Padme would also die.

Anakin/Vader must go for her. He must do whatever he could, so long as he lived, to keep her with him.

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When Vader stepped from the dark cave of the black room into the bright, white corridor the blinding harshness of the light sliced into his senses; searing, sickly agony thrashed within him. His body made to vomit, but his empty, convulsing stomach had nothing to eject. He collapsed, his prosthetics beyond the control of his mind. He slipped back underwater.

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When he woke his eyes were blue.

In his silent solitude that seemed almost detached from the universe, which roared somewhere in the far away distance from this empty, white hallway, the broken man attempted to collect himself. He did not feel that gravitational sense of power, the involuntary suckling of the force that he had felt so recently before. The darkness was gone. He was outside of the well. The force had reverted to the state like weather that he had known so well, so long ago. When he was a Jedi.

Was he a Jedi, now, or a Sith?

He did not know. The recollection of his recent actions was so indistinct. He almost did not know what had happened. But he knew enough. He knew enough that he could not rouse himself from the floor.

He could not bear to erect his broken body up off of it. To allow himself the gift of life. Too terrible was he to be allowed to further taint the lives of others.

The universe that recently had felt so distant, so detached, now crushed into him.

The younglings. The choking. Obi-Wan. The burning of the Temple. The gravity. The efficiency of his lightsaber's cut. The Nemoidians. Master Windu. The droids putting things into and onto his body. The heat. The fury. The Fear. Sidious. His child. Padme...

Padme...

The thought of her pummeled him in a wave of concrete energy. His body vibrated at the thought of her, his mind cleared, his objectives clarified into something discernible. He must go to her. Now!

It was so difficult for him to rise. He did not know how to use his prosthetics. But he used the force to carry him. He wiggled, as quickly as he could, without direction, through the maze of white halls, reading the signs, seeking a hangar, some method of transport.

The beings he encountered were few. No one recognized him. No one would. He knew no one. Nothing mattered anyway. He thought of nothing except for his objective.

Eventually he found a sign, giving him directions to an exit. He pursued the indicated route. The security team of the hangar, when he reached it, did not object to his passage after a simple wave of his hand. He selected and entered a vehicle, and exited the hangar.

He could feel Padme- he was entirely focused on her. He could sense her location relative to his, and thus he knew which direction he must head.

He ascended into the atmosphere, accelerating until he entered space, beyond the bounds of the planet that he did not even recognize, that he had not even bothered to examine.

In space he began his formal search for her. He knew which direction she was in. Reading the radar, the only body of mass that was in this direction was an asteroid named Polis Massa. She was there.

The entire time of travel between the hallway in which he had emerged, rebuilt, and the Polis Massa docking bay on which he now landed, was less than 15 minutes.

Yoda sensed him. The force signature of the man that was now considered to be Vader was unchanged.

Alarm erupted within Yoda, who turned to Obi-Wan, who, intent on Padme, and whose mind was so battered from his own recent experiences, had not recognized the arrival of his former Padawan.

In hushed tones, so that Padme would not hear, Yoda said to Obi-Wan,

"Here, Vader is. From coming to this room, stop him, you must."

Shock enveloped Obi-Wan. Distraught, terrified desperation surged into him. And grief. He could not handle this. Not after everything else. But he must, he reasoned, he must.

So, he nodded to Yoda, and slowly rose and left the room, seeking his fallen brother.

The man who was previously known as Anakin was completely unaware of the presence of the two masters, so intent was his focus on Padme. He did not notice Obi-Wan until the man had visibly entered his path. Obi Wan had found his old Padawan so easily; the man's force signature was like a beacon with a visibility that could not be barred by physical objects. Everything was rendered transparent before his power.

Obi-Wan felt as incompetent as the walls between himself and the other man, despite having defeated Vader in duel only a few hours previously.

But more so, he had imagined Anakin, Vader, whoever he was, to be dead. How could he have survived? How could he manage to have come here, to this place?

When Obi-Wan came before Vader, and saw him, he was astounded. Vader looked almost exactly as he had when he had last seen him, but Obi-Wan had dismembered him so thoroughly... how could the man have arms and legs?

When the younger man caught sight of his master, sadness engulfed him. Tears formed and fell from his blue eyes. He sobbed, loudly, loud enough for Obi-Wan to hear.

Now, for the first time, Anakin felt sincere remorse. Overwhelming remorse poured upon him like heavy rain as he stared at the the person he loved second most in the world, his brother, his father, the man he had so artificially meant to exterminate the last time he had seen him.

Obi-Wan looked at the man before him, and what he had so recently thought was a stone cast into the sea, was now again, visibly the man he had raised and trained and adored even more than he had loved his own master. He was different; taller, more mechanical, less human. A man composed almost equally of metal and tissue. But despite his exhibitions of inhumanity, both in physical body and past action, he exuded human emotion; it seeped from him, surrounding him in a halo of grief and torment.

To Anakin, Obi-Wan looked like an oasis in the desert. For, in his anguish, Anakin's fear and anger had submitted to his misery. Obi-Wan, good, wonderful Obi-Wan was a source of hope. Obi-Wan had lived... perhaps not all else was also lost.

Neither men could move towards each other, for fear of a mirage. But concern for Padme remained in Anakin's awareness, and it pulled at him like an increasingly insistent child, tugging at him for his attention, begging him to act.

"Master... I must go to her, I must help her... She can't die."

"How can I trust you?"

Anakin took his lightsaber from his belt, which Obi-Wan immediately mirrored, defensively. But Anakin, instead of activating his own, threw it; propelling it with the force as far away as he could.

Obi-Wan watched its flight, before returning his gaze to Anakin's filthy, desperate face.

"I would have you lay your blade against my neck and escort me to her side, guarding me all the while."

"And your choke?"

Anakin hoped Obi-Wan would not ask this. For in truth he knew no way to provide a means for Obi-Wan to ensure that he was completely subdued and in no way a threat.

"I do not know... what could I do? ...What would you let me do to see her? ...I'll do anything..." Anakin briefly reminisced on how he had stated something so similar to Sidious when submitting himself, back then. He trembled.

Obi-Wan was as lost as Anakin was in this plight. He wanted so much to believe that this, this beautiful fantasy of Anakin's return to him, to the light, was true. But he could not. He was so wounded by what he had seen Vader do just hours before. How could Obi-Wan forget? Could he ever forgive? Could he even accept? Could he trust? That was the question being asked of him.

Anakin. The boy who was always so intense, smoldering darkly, a massive volcano of power and will, and fear and anger. But also, the boy, and the man, from whom Obi-Wan felt such absolute, unconditional love that he ignored, even pardoned all other qualities that so concerned him. For, Obi-Wan had experienced flowing through the force from Anakin a gradually intensifying sensation from the boy as he grew. At first there was none at all, but soon it came in a soft, warm envelope of gentle vibrations. Over time, the pressure of the envelope seemed to increase, as did the heat, though never to the point of anything distracting nor uncomfortable. It was a very pleasant feeling. Yet, for a long time it worried Obi-Wan. Admittedly, he harbored a small amount of fear of this bizarre, beautiful boy.

Eventually he sought council, but despite his fears of the boy he had still come to love him; so he only approached the Jedi council after a long period of hesitation, wary of the repercussions Anakin might have to face. The council's response to Obi-Wan's description of his sensation was that it was love.

Though emotional attachment was not appropriate for Jedi, the council recognized that Anakin was a special case, and that the love he had known in his life thus far could not be discarded, avoided, or suppressed. They allowed Anakin to love Obi-Wan, for Anakin was the Chosen One. It simply had to be suffered.

Obi-Wan cherished Anakin's love, which continued to grow throughout their relationship. Anakin, in his love for Obi-Wan eventually began to revel in Obi-Wan's company. When together, Obi-Wan experienced heightened sensations of awareness, of comfort, and of perception. The warm bath that surrounded Obi-Wan nourished him. It made him feel vastly more significant as a living, sentient being. It made him feel special, if at least, to Anakin. Extraordinarily special. Especially since the Anakin he knew was still such a supernatural man. An amazingly powerful, frightening, supreme being of a man.

But, Anakin, a man capable of such love, could never be capable of anything bad? Could he? Certainly not of the atrocities which were committed by Vader? But they did happen. Indeed, they did.

Obi-Wan was torn. The one source of faith he had maintained for the volatile, frightening boy, the faith that Obi-Wan had clung to and cherished... was defeated by Vader. Or was it?

For Obi-Wan still felt that same love now in the man standing in front of him. But he felt it many times over; it was ten times as powerful as what he had known before.

The man standing before him emanated love, more powerfully than Obi-Wan had ever experienced from anyone, anywhere. He didn't understand, nor could speculate as to why it was so much more potent, but it was undeniably that: love.

Obi-Wan submitted. He would take the chance; believe that it truly was Anakin before him. The father of the children Padme would soon deliver. Her lover.

"Come", Obi-Wan said quietly, turning, and retracing his path. Anakin followed silently, weeping in gratitude and fear and remorse... and love.

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Padme was only now in the beginning stages of her delivery. The man she loved, and thought to have lost, entered her room.

She saw him as soon as he saw her. She saw his tears, his agony, his love. She wailed, reflecting the emotions that radiated from him. Her cry was the release of the fear that sifted within her, and when she breathed in she filled the newly emptied space with the relief she had so desperately longed for but had prepared to abandon.

Yoda (also reassured by Anakin's overwhelming presence of love) and Obi-Wan watched silently as Anakin leapt across the distance between himself and Padme and accepted her subconscious plea that he hold and kiss her.

Supporting her torso in his arms he rhythmically covered her clean, soft face with adoring, gentle but urgent presses of his haggardly braised lips. With each kiss he sought to plant a seed of his adoration within her; to give her new life, to ensure that she lived. He did not know what else to do.

Eventually, ceasing to press his brow against hers, he settled into a state of repose, attempting to push some of his love across the force to her.

With her eyes closed, yet still weeping, she sucked in his tender yet desperate, intangible flow of emotion, which she regardless was able to perceive. Willing it to fill the void inside her from which she had been allowing her will to live drain; it rushed into her. It flooded each vein and capillary with something delectably soothing. The remnants of her anguish only served to elevate the force of her relief, and her blithe gratification. She smiled, inhaling the air traced with his scent, which had now become so delicious.

"Ani. I knew there was some good in you. I know you're good."

"Sssh, my love. Just stay well. Just stay with me. I need you. I'll be anything, just don't leave me."

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	2. Purging

So, I think there is some smut due. Sorry kiddies, the next chapter may just bump this up to M.

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Yoda watched silently as Anakin poured his love unto Padme, cradling her from behind; supporting her delivery posture in his arms and against his chest. Yoda could almost grasp within his fingers the ardor of the reverence Anakin emanated, it was so fervent.

Tears cleansed Anakin's face of the impurities of the past. The current softness of his expression would so easily delude his recent crimes. But one must recognize, his catalyst was was the woman he held in his arms; his actions were deliberate- to save her.

Yoda, however, knew that there were more incentives to Anakin's fall from grace. It was devastating, but it must not be ignored.

One cause was the power and freedom promised by the dark side. Too long had Anakin felt squeezed, oppressed, belittled. Always, since becoming a Jedi, he had faced a constant wind, blowing against him, of doubt and criticism. He felt patronized, marginalized... and yet he was expected to conform to the expectations of the prophesied figure of the "Chosen One". But he was offered so little support, guidance, approval, or satisfaction... no, he did not even feel accepted. He felt wrong, and wronged. He did not know how to do what was expected of him, and what he attempted was never adequate in the eyes of his mentors.

But Palpatine... Palpatine offered him everything he wanted and more, including respect... even admiration, which was what Anakin longed for, more than anything, except for love.

Only Obi-Wan and Padme gave him love. And still, in the end, Anakin hurt them.

Yoda saw this: Anakin had now exhibited himself as the most powerful being in the galaxy. And he had a tendency to the dark side... He should not be allowed to live, not after the having executed the atrocities he had. He was too volatile; the destruction he had committed was a monsoon, though he was capable of hurricanes. He had burned the temple, but he could easily go on to threaten Courasant and much of the inner rim.

The small percentage of the Jedi remaining could not be threatened by his presence.

But Yoda could not will himself to act. He could not bear to separate this reunited family before him, knowing what he did.

Anakin had fulfilled his purpose as the Chosen One He had destroydr the Sith lord. And he had also done that which he had personally set out to do: Padme had just completed a healthy birth. There were no physical complications.

And this man, this frightening, heavy, obscure, metallic human that had exuded so much force power it weighed and pushed at all force sensitives that encountered him to points of discomfort... Now he was sweet and hot, beaming with radiant color and gentle vibrations as he held Padme.

Yoda could not ignore this.

Most of the rest of the council had been demolished. The decision was Yoda's to make.

If Anakin was stripped of his position of a Jedi then he would be stripped somewhat of his capabilities. More-so he may also be stripped of his incentive. And there was no longer any Sith master: the pathway to the dark side was broken. Regardless of whether Anakin had destroyed Sidious, regardless of his accomplishments of talents, Anakin was not experienece enough in the ways of the force to rebuild the path to the dark side. Not alone.

Anakin was truly lost.

Yoda would leave him at that.

As for Obi-Wan, he had already anticipated Yoda's decision. But he realized that he must remain part of Anakin's life: to anchor him, to provide him with the reality of love (though love was forbidden for the Jedi, all members of this party recognized that Anakin was not a normal Jedi, and Obi-Wan could not prevent himself from loving him according to the conditions of Anakin's being). Perhaps Obi-Wan's attentive presence could act as a barrier to prevent Anakin form drifting back into a state of vulnerability, of ambition, or unchecked power. Regardless, he would be there, as a friend, as much as he could.

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Padme survived her delivery, as did both of the twins. They slept within incubators in the room where Padme rested, with Anakin sitting at her side.

Yoda came to wish them goodbye.

"But... what about me?" Dread could not be withheld from Anakin's statement .And guilt. It was obvious that he suffered as he asked it.

"Afraid, I am. And sad, very sad. But love, I see in you. That this is enough, I hope. Enough that abandoned you can be."

Abandoned... the word was a blade. It pierced Anakin... but it also provided him with an opportunity to open a path to freedom. To abandon expectation, commitment, restraint. He would be free to live on, alone, with Padme and his children.

But his power... what would become of his power?

Anakin locked gazes with Yoda. He sought the answer within himself, but also within the master before him. He could not find an answer. He did not know what he would do with his ability... but he found one small stone of truth within him, gleaming: He did not want his abilities. He only wanted to live, a simple life, free of the responsibilities of the Jedi, free of the burden of the force. He had tasted power, and it disgusted him. The murder... there was no pleasure in that. The was no pleasure in the subjugation of others to his will or action. He wanted none of that any longer. He wanted nothing of his former life... of the Jedi way, the code, the politics of the republic, the fighting of the war.

But Anakin did want one thing: his family.

And he wanted a future.

Anakin looked at Padme. _Perhaps this future would be in the lake country of Naboo._

Yoda would accept this. The seclusion would be an assistant in subduing Anakin's ambition. And his children would occupy him, as a distraction.

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Yoda met with Obi-Wan outside of the medical center, at the docking bay. He regarded the human silently, a sad smile on his lips.

"You don't trust him do you." Obi-Wan asked, delicately, but with a sheen of guilt- as if he knew that the answer to a question was obvious, and he futilely was trying to doubt it."

"Trust him, I never will."

Obi-Wan nodded, consenting.

Yoda But Yoda pardoned Obi-Wan his attachment, his weakness in wanting to protect Anakin's welfare. He was aware of the potency of human emotion, and the incapability of humans to fully constrain it. Anakin and Obi-Wan had a bond based on mutual mourning of the death of a father figure, Qui-Gon, which only intensified and enhanced the familial-like relationship they shared as a master and Padawan. More-so, Obi-Wan had become, in turn, the father that Anakin had always desired. Anakin's subsequent, loaded attachment to Obi-Wan would cause the older, compassionate man to reciprocate, it being only in his nature. Regardless of the horrors Anakin may have wrought, Yoda knew to expect Obi-Wan to seek to shelter Anakin in hopes that he may eventually find redemption; Obi-Wan would not stand to forsake his son, his brother, if not absolutely necessary.

"But, with vigilance, offer him a chance to continue living, we should."

Obi-Wan raised his brow, hope surfacing onto the planes of his face. Yoda... compassionate Yoda. Master Windu, as well as almost the rest of the council, would never have agreed to such a dangerous choice. No, not when such a destructive force was involved. Regardless of whether the volcano appeared dormant, they would have always remain cautiously expectant that it may become active once more...

"If willing, you are, to watch him, the responsibility of his life I will give to you."

This was a burden. The weight of the responsibility was so heavy. Obi-Wan was more than aware of the consequences posed by Anakin's continued existence. And to be the one responsible for those consequences left him suspended under the weight of the galaxy. But there was another angle to this... perhaps Anakin had been beaten in their duel on Mustafar... but not entirely, and only because Anakin had overestimated his ability in a dismal situation. But in normal circumstances, how could Anakin, the volcano, truly be defeated? And how many would it take to shut him down?

And what of his love?

Anakin's fall to the dark side had been due in part to his ambition, yes. But his actions whilst under its influence had been enacted only to protect the one he loved. The predator protecting his kin, however, had fulfilled its purpose; Anakin was by his healthy wife's side, with his breathing, smiling children within arms reach. His lethal intentions had been purged of him within his tears that had stripped his cheeks of the film of smoke.

Now, with his mission accomplished, Anakin was free. More-so, he was free to love openly, knowing that he had torn himself from the Jedi-Order.

Perhaps, so long as those he loved would remain safe, and there was no Sith lord to corrupt him once more, Anakin;would never fall again.

And, most importantly, that he had returned is the greatest source of hope possible. Yes, Anakin had returned. Whether he had made up his mind to do so, or merely fell back onto the light side like he had on the dark was perhaps irrelevant. Anakin had returned.

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They ignored the universe that erupted violently around them.

They hid within the white house of stone and glass, shrouded in the emptiness of the lake country of Naboo. Anakin, Padme and their children had shielded themselves in secret, stifling themselves in oblivion from a galaxy that remembered the Sith traitor with frantic, absolute fear.

Anakin and Padme's children slept on the other side of the tall, white wall. They were safe, and healthy. As was Padme. She was alive, and well.

Currently she dreamed-her body pressed against Anakin's-of their future safety and the uncertainty of the life they faced.

Obi-Wan and Yoda had promised them maintenance of their secret. It was to be told that both the Senator and The Chosen One had been lost. It was to be implied that they had died. Nothing was to be said of their marriage, or their children. Accordingly, the roles of the politician and the Jedi had ceased to exist. Padme chose to bury this role in the grave where Anakin had already cast his.

She did not want this. It was excruciating to recognize the collapse of Senator Padme Amidala. But worse was the implosion of Knight Skywalker.

And it was terrifying to know that she was his wife, that she was sleeping in his arms. But she had reconciled herself to that.

She had never loved him like he did her. She was secure; her mind was temperate. But she had so fallen in love with how he had loved her. She loved how he laid himself before her, exhibiting each aspect of his mind in displays decorated with adoration and trust. He had converted himself into something she could swallow and bear like the children once in her womb. He sought absolute protection and nourishment from her.

And, being in love, compassionate, and innately nurturing, she welcomed him. She realized that she was the center of his gravity, holding him together.

She came to despise that, softly, almost unconsciously, but knew nothing could now be done. So she smothered her apprehensions in her love for him.

She prayed that she could hold him intact. Her beautiful, brilliant husband. A man who loved so much as him, who had never lost the soul of the child she had met on Tatooine, was magnificent, incomparable to even that of Obi-Wan, the most marvelous moral being she had ever encountered. Anakin, beneath the layers of armor donned in war, was the morning bird whose song gave rhythm to her heart-beat and breathed into her what she breathed out as laughter.

But he was also the raptor, talon and beak, sense and speed and cunning. He had annihilated so much of the Jedi body, the family of which he was a member.. He had become a monster that self-mutilated the paragon he should have been.

But he was still Anakin. He had not been transformed absolutely. Only adulterated. And he did it for her.

She could not deny him the cause for his abominations- it was always for her. She pitied him. And though she could not forgive him, she understood. A man, inhumane like he, was not like her or Obi-Wan or Yoda. He was something much more extreme. All of him, driven by his extreme connection to the force, was amplified beyond normality. Was he did was exemplary of this abnormality. And he could certainly do more of such.

So she received his return for both his sake and for the sake of all the others that could perish from his potential, desolate wrath.

And so, absolved they fled into seclusion. To bathe and heal in the pure light of Naboo. To mourn the dead Jedi in the death-place of the wonderful Qui-Gon Jinn. And to plant their family, in the place they had dreamt about so much before.

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He woke behind her, his hand by instinct traveling to her sunken, reshaped abdomen. Her simple, radiant beauty and wellness has sustained. It had been weeks since they had come. Anakin had been mostly silent, except for when he cradled and cooed or sang to his children. They breathed fresh, new life into him, and with the assistance of Padme's welcoming ear, he had begun to purge himself of all the darkness that had tainted him, forcing it from him by the replacements of light and love.

Dawn prepared to come. The sun lingered below the horizon, but its song preluded it in the music of the birds and the insects that heralded it.

He could see her features in the half light, his angel. And now he lay with her on her homeland, not the moons of Lego, which he expected that she had come from, but Naboo, where she had been the child queen.

And she was, in fact, his angel; she had saved a monstrosity from destruction, of both himself and the worlds around him.

She rolled, pressing her front into him; seeking the arch of his neck in which to nestle her face.

For a man who was capable of such horror, he was so many times more good. She allowed the goodness in him to excuse the bad. She would try to suffocate her memory of the bad with the good, and to help him do the same with the mutual pursuit of tenderness.

He kissed her forehead, and left his lips there on the porcelain skin; he couldn't stand to break the connection.

She smelt like rain.

And he smelt like soil; like basalt.

They had spent most of their time here outside, in the green fields and forests. The children were beautiful and well behaved; Luke never cried and Leia was easily satisfied of her troubles by her doting, obsessively so, father. Their presence reassured Anakin of his humanity. When with them he felt whole. Never in their lifetime had he committed an act he would regret, so they were innocent figures born into an environment of absolute purity, and he saw a reflection of this shining onto himself.

His children were the stars and the moon, and Padme was his sun; blinding him with acceptance and love.

She opened her eyes and looked up at him, shifting her weight as to press tighter into him, twisting herself into his crevices of tight muscle and reaching up to twist her fingers into the careless, childish curls of his hair (interesting how his once straight hair had tucked in on itself through the years, as if rolling up into a defeated position, worn of the endeavors the body underwent). She rolled her slender fingers along a curl, appreciating the softness that has remained part of her scarred lover.

His eyelids draw back to reveal blue beryl irises. A smile spread unto his lips the moment he saw her, his embrace around her tightening instinctively (at night he sometimes her with such intense constriction she would have to wake him to end the pain). She wriggled within his arms, playfully. Her youth still lingered within her, she would employ the levity of a child to charm and humor him- to bring him happiness, which he knew so scarcely these days. It was as if he were afraid to be happy- afraid of himself, and afraid that he deserved to never be happy again. She had bawled over the same idea herself... her husband had been a sith, and had murdered more jedi in one night than any sith had done in his or her lifetime. _But he was still Anakin_, she would assert to herself, _and he did it for me. Not for the power. He killed to keep others alive..._

"How are you?" she asked.

He smiled, but did not speak. He chose to remain quiet these days, for fear of hearing the darkness in his own voice that he had suspected in the weeks leading up to his fall. He did not expect to turn again anytime soon, but the memory left a taste in his mouth that would not go away, and he was afraid of it like a child afraid of the dark. As a response, he kissed her lips, tracing feathered lines across her eyebrow and temple with his finger as he did so. She responded to the kiss softly, allowing it to flow unhurried like calm water.

"I am with you, Padme. I am very well."

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End file.
